Naughty Stranger (Dangerous Love 1)

He sounded…amused.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

The man’s eyes heated, like he got off on this fight, and Peyton’s stomach rolled with that truth. He charged her, and she thrust the large knife out, desperate to hurt him, when he grabbed her wrist, painfully twisting until she dropped the blade. She cried out as he spun her, holding her tight against him, his arms locking around her. Doing all she could do, she dipped her head, found his arm and bit. Hard.

“Fucking bitch,” he bit off, and let go for a second, and that’s all she needed. She charged forward to get Kinsley’s purse and the weapon, when suddenly his hand clenched her nape and he slammed her against the ground before sending her flying over the kitchen table to land in a heap on the floor.

Her breath whooshed out as the world spun around her. She felt heavy, far too heavy to get off the floor. She sensed him moving around the table, his footsteps coming closer. In her line of vision, she spotted a large kitchen knife. She’d only have one chance.

That’s it.

If she failed, she’d die, and so would Kinsley.

She held her breath, waiting…listening to his footsteps getting closer. One. Then another. And another. Every second feeling like a lifetime as she let him get closer.

And closer yet.

His boots squeaked softly against the floor. His heavy breathing sounded louder as the seconds drew on.

She waited. Held her breath. And the moment he knelt to grab her, she flipped over and sliced his arm.

The man roared, stumbling back, blood pouring from the wound.

This time, when he charged again, rage filling his eyes, she leaped up, remembering the car accident and the injury on the man’s leg, and she stabbed the knife into his femoral artery. The man screamed, the worst sound she’d ever heard, itching somewhere deep in her soul. She never hurt people. She saved them.

“Stupid cunt.” He charged once more, grabbing her head and smashing it against the floor. Darkness crept into her vision. She sensed herself tumbling into a place she couldn’t pull herself away from. She lay in blood—maybe hers, maybe this stranger’s, or maybe Kinsley’s—but she yearned for warmth.

Boone.

She blinked, slowly, fighting to remain conscious. Everything was hazy, hard to catch, but then she spotted the man standing there with the knife stuck in his leg, inspecting his wound. Darkness trickled in but then she noticed the man was gone. She took an inventory of herself. She had no pain, only coldness rushing through her veins.

I should be hurting. Get up!

She blinked, her eyes wanting to close, desperate to sleep. Help. She tried to focus, her kitchen beginning to blur around her. We need help. She squinted, trying to fight through the haze. She slid along the blood toward Kinsley, spotting Kinsley’s cell phone on the floor next to her.

Peyton caught sight of her blood-soaked hands when she grabbed the phone and hit the power button. The screen came to life, and she dialed 911. But Peyton couldn’t fight the heaviness.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

Then, and only then, did she let the darkness take her.

Chapter 14

Boone left the station, frustrated to have no answers to bring to Peyton, but itching to see her. He walked to his motorcycle in the back parking lot, feeling restless. He had a case to solve and a woman to protect. Both of which he felt like he was failing to achieve. He slid a leg over his bike, thinking maybe later today he’d give his motorcycle a wash at Peyton’s place. The moist salty air and sunny sky made the day perfect for such a task.

He slid the key into the ignition and nearly turned it when a familiar voice said, “Boone.” His heart promptly landed in his gut. He shut his eyes, not believing this could be happening right now. He breathed deeply before he glanced up.

Chelsea looked exactly the same as she did the last time he’d seen her. A flower-patterned dress covered her athletic frame. Her light blond hair sat right at her shoulders. Her green eyes were surrounded by dark makeup, and his mind took him to the last time he’d stared into their depths.

Boone stood against the wall in the police station, arms crossed, staring at his sobbing wife with a disturbing coldness he’d never had for her. “Answer me one thing: Did you know what Scott used the information for?”

“Boone,” Chelsea whispered softly, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

He took the two steps forward to close the distance and slammed his hands down on the table. “Tell me, Chelsea. Now.”

She flinched, glancing up with red-rimmed green eyes and bright red cheeks. “You know Scott, he owes money. He needed help. I couldn’t watch his life fall apart.”

“Say it, Chelsea,” Boone said through clenched teeth.